


Charlie Chaplin is a good guy

by Sara_Nublas



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Nublas/pseuds/Sara_Nublas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>taking place after 2x22 Legacy. Prompt: “You’re a good guy..” “you think so?” “Yes, you make people around you feel good”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlie Chaplin is a good guy

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Nix1978: thanks for the prompt and for the feedback! ;)

A relaxed smile lingers on the profiler’s face for a few minutes after the film is over.  
Chaplin’s candid humor is so irresistible and in stark contrast with what they just left behind in Kansas, with what they see daily. It’s enough to watch his naïve expression while he faces the most ridiculous situations, to forget about their troubles and start laughing, bewitched by his genius.  
When Emily gets up from her seat and switches the lights on, the members of the team let out some tired yawns while stretching out. It has been a long case, and now their bodies are claiming the deserved rest. She looks, smiling at her colleagues, and she’s about to say something when her ringing phone diverts her attention. With Chaplin still in her mind and a growing feeling that despite the weariness she’s not ready to call a night yet, she heads outside of the room to take the call.  
“Chaplin was a genius!” Hotch comments still giggling, receiving a nod of approval from Gideon.  
“He was also a playboy!” Garcia continues, “How many girlfriends, wives, fiancés and flings did he have? And many of them were just teenagers…” she shrugs definitely not liking this side of Chaplin.  
“Then good guys can be also players…” Hotch suggests, winking at Morgan, who rolls his eyes in response.  
“Again with that story Hotch? Really?” Morgan complains with a crooked smile.  
“Ok, here I missed something” Garcia arches her eyebrows.  
“Emily thinks that Morgan is a good guy...” Reid explains with a mocking smile on his face.  
“She’s right! My chocolate god is a piece of cake,” Garcia defends heatedly.  
Morgan rubs his head with one hand, not sure of how to get out of this conversation “Yeah, well… You see baby girl, even though I know you’re moved by the best intentions, this is not helping…” Morgan REALLY doesn’t flirt with the idea of being tagged as a good guy. A player, yes. Fun, yes. A tough guy, yes. But a good guy? Every time he hears those two words, he immediately associates them with a chubby accountant, coming back home to his perfect family after a quiet day at the office.  
“Why not?” Penelope asks bewildered “You are a good guy!”  
“Yes but he doesn’t like being called like that. It damages his reputation,” Reid goes on mocking.  
“Shut up, pretty kid,” he chuckles in seeing how much the younger profiler is enjoying teasing him, then he turns to Penelope, “Garcia, I’m flattered by your compliments, but I just don’t see myself as a piece of cake, that’s it.” Is it so hard to get that a man might not like seeing his manhood compared to a sweet, fluffy cake?  
“Did I mention that it’s a very yummy cake? The one you can’t help taking a bite of?” Garcia points out mischievously.  
“Ok, ok, ok, baby girl… I get the metaphor,” he giggles along with the other profilers.  
“You’re still at the bureau guys… Behave.” Hotch gives all of them an amused look before bidding his goodbye and leaving, followed by Gideon.  
“Metaphor for what?” Emily, who walked back into the conference room just seconds before Hotch and Gideon left, enquires.  
“Morgan can’t cope with the idea of being a good guy” Reid chants with a grin, and doesn’t notice how Emily widens her eyes and stiffens at the comment.  
“Okay, kids. I think we had enough bantering for the night,” JJ calls for discipline, accustomed to Derek and Reid mockeries.  
“But JJ! Just as it was starting to become fun…” Reid whines, “Hei, if anybody’s hungry I know a pretty good Indian restaurant that’s opened all night.”  
“How about a beer? Anyone in?” Emily suggests.  
Suddenly the profilers are not so eager to go back home anymore. The idea of being in company, not to work on a case but just to have some fun, for few more hours is actually a more alluring prospect than coming back to their empty apartments.

The club is filled with people and loud music, the ideal place to be in company without carrying out engaging conversation, unless you are a genius with a 187 IQ. Reid’s need to tease Morgan is soon forgotten when he starts a lecture on the effect of alcohol on vitamin B levels and the biochemical basis of hangover. Few girls, oblivious to what he’s saying, but obviously attracted by his nerdy attitude, are staring at him sipping their cocktails and occasionally giggling at his wording choices.  
Morgan, on the other hand, looks like a man on a mission. He apparently decided that flirting, dancing and engaging close range conversations with any woman in the bar is the only way to redeem his tarnished reputation.  
Emily would usually look at such a scene with an amused attitude, playing along with Garcia’s sassy comments, but tonight she can’t help being annoyed with Morgan’s reaction. Maybe because she suspects that her definition of him as ‘a good guy’ is the reason from which this alpha-male demeanor has stemmed.  
Maybe because she really meant good with her words and cannot see what’s so wrong about being a good guy.  
Maybe because she’s always thought that despite the rumor mill describing him as a shallow playboy, Morgan is actually a man with many layers, and secretly this complexity attracted her. Whereas now all she can see is a sad representation of a Cro-Magnon man.  
Maybe because she has nurtured the idea that there was an unspoken affinity between the two of them, going beyond the simple professional sphere, and now watching this horny man dancing amid a bunch of sweaty and equally horny women makes her wonder what the hell was she thinking.  
Maybe because looking at those women rubbing against him, she remembers something he told her sometime before, while working on a case, that she was never an antelope. If at that time it sounded to her as a positive thing, now it somewhat seems a detracting statement; and it stings…  
As soon as the realization of what this thought implies sinks in, she falters and an internal voice screams at her in capital letters NOT. A. GOOD. IDEA.

Morgan is pissed, and reckless, and eager, and a storm is whirling in his head. A storm he wants to ignore. He just wants to silence this voice that is telling him he’s being childish and inconsiderate and to just be in the moment. Why shouldn’t he? He’s a rather handsome man; he surely has a way with women and women like him. Anybody in his position wouldn’t think twice and have fun without regrets, instead he can’t help mulling over, wondering what he wants to achieve with this attitude. Does he want to prove that he actually is a bad guy, who gets what he wants and never looks back, and is surrounded by as many women as he wants? This is the reputation he gained at the BAU and outside, partly shaped around his flirtatious altitude, partly overly exaggerated by the gossips and the rumor around him. A reputation that over the years has become more and more distant from what he is now, even though nobody seemed to notice it so far, not even himself; not until Emily told him he was a good guy, because he makes people around him feel good.  
Truth is, at first he was really flattered by that compliment, but then something clicked. He doesn’t know if it is the stereotype of the good guy that annoys him; or the fact that Emily Prentiss seems to be able to see him in so much more depth than any other could before, and this is pleasing and scary. He knows that nurturing these considerations can only lead him down a dangerous path that it would be really unwise to take.  
He never bothered to ratify or reject his reputation, but now after that simple observation a surge of questions started arising. He really is a good guy? Does he want to be? Why it is so important to him not to be the good guy? While his mind his filled doubts and his body is moving surrounded by women competing for his attention, he turns his gaze toward the opposite corner of the bar and his eyes meet with Emily’s. It’s just a fraction of a second, because she immediately redirects her attention to JJ and Garcia, sitting and chatting next to her, but he can swear that in that fraction of a second it was hurt that he saw on her face.  
It takes just that one second to shatter his macho stance. He finds himself planted in the middle of a dance floor, surrounded by women he doesn’t care about, and the one only simple thought streaming in his minds MORGAN, YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE.

“So, what happened? My sculpted god of sex and seduction got tired of all those women worshipping him? The hunt was too easy?” Penelope teases an unusually quiet Morgan, approaching the table where she, JJ and Prentiss are sitting.  
“Just not interested in that anymore, baby girl” he replies, seeming all of a sudden exhausted.  
“And what is it that you are interested in?” JJ asks, sipping her drink.  
“Obviously you, my beautiful ladies…” he tries a smile, but it comes out somewhat veiled.  
His beaten attitude doesn’t escape Emily’s notice, but right now she’s so frustrated that she can’t keep her mouth shut, “Aren’t they bad enough for you?” she asks provocatively.  
He looks at her, helpless in defeat.  
“It’s not easy to top the awesomeness of such a sexy good guy!” Garcia intervenes, oblivious of the tension running between Emily and Derek, “Even though you don’t like the definition” she concludes with a sweet smile.  
“Yes, I guess you’re right Penelope,” he bitterly surrenders with a sigh.  
“Yeah, I can understand how being a good guy is such an ominous thing that you have to dread it, as if it was the black plague…” Emily mutters sarcastically, throwing Morgan a death glare, then she gets up, “Any refill ladies?”

While Garcia goes to the restroom, Emily heads to order some more drinks and Morgan can’t help but allow his gaze to follow her with sad eyes. JJ stares at him, analyzing his friend and colleague, taken aback by his quietness. During this kind of nights, Derek is usually the life and soul of the party; smiling, flirtatious, always ready to answer Garcia’s bantering and to seduce ladies with his wicked smile. But tonight there’s something different about him; first, his reaction to Reid’s comments on being a good guy, then the rapacious flirting as soon as they got to the bar and now this unusual quietness. She reclines on the back of her chair and follows his gaze, apparently focused on Prentiss, waiting for the drinks and chatting with a guy who is leaning a bit too close toward her. When her eyes return to Morgan, determined in asking him what’s going on, she swears she can see his jaw clenching and his expression tense, territorial, almost covetous.  
Derek doesn’t even hear JJ asking him if everything’s okay, he just jumps out of his seat and walks toward the counter.

“My personal record was in Oxford, where I drank 6 pints of beer and a bottle of whiskey,” the guy, named Roger, leans heavily forward and for a moment Emily fears he’s going to collapse onto her. Between his British accent and the amount of alcohol he has consumed, his words come out stirred and chewed, and his breath rather offending.  
When the bartender finally hands her the drinks, she sighs, relieved to have an excuse to take off. That’s when Roger decides that he wants to dance with her and extends a hand aiming for her waist. Before she can even react, someone standing behind her intercepts Roger’s arm, warning him “No dancing for you tonight, my man…”  
Roger looks up to see a built man, staring at him resolutely; one of his hands is lightly posed on Emily’s forearm, the other is extended between them, to block him form invading her personal space. Roger doesn’t know if the two are partners or friends, but judging the eye she’s giving to the new comer, he decides he doesn’t want to stand in the middle of this. He looks once again to the determined expression on the guy’s face and he raises his hands submissively, taking a step back and leaving.  
“You okay, Prentiss?” Derek asks Emily, without removing his gaze from the drunken guy, now backing away, nor his hand from her arm.  
“I got that.” she grumbles back at him, not happy at all, “Maybe you should go and rescue her” she points the new target of Roger’s attention “damsels in distress usually like bad guys” she says grabbing the glasses.  
“Okay, hold on. I never thought you couldn’t handle that guy…” he blocks her way, searching her gaze, “can we just talk for a moment about all this ‘good guy’ thing?” he’s almost pleading.  
“There’s nothing to talk about. I said it meaning well, I didn’t imagine you would take it as a mortal insult..” she bites back.  
“I didn’t…”  
“Morgan, you don’t have to explain. I got the point” she passes him and moves toward the girls.  
‘No, wait…” Derek looks at her in frustration, feeling like the more is trying to fix the situation, the worse he’s making it.  
On the other hand, Emily regrets her unnecessary roughness. She’s not as pissed off with Morgan, as much she’s with herself for taking this all thing so personally. She has always regarded Derek Morgan as a great colleague and a friend, and has always been able to set boundaries. Now all of a sudden she makes a big deal out of a simple affirmation, and what upsets her most is that she doesn’t even have a clue on why she’s letting this get to her so much.

“Are they alright?” JJ asks Garcia, when she comes back to the table.  
“Who?”  
“Derek and Emily? They’ve been acting weird all night..”  
Penelope looks at JJ, baffled, and then at the counter, where Derek is shielding Emily from a strange guy “I don’t know. But she’s not going like him going all protective. Our Emily’s a tough girl.” she jokes.  
“I don’t know… there’s something going on between those two that I can’t quite place” JJ continues.  
“Well, I told you she doesn’t like being rescued…” Garcia comments observing Emily while she sneaks away from Morgan and walks toward them with a rather unpleased expression on her face.  
“Hei, are you two ok?” JJ asks concerned as soon as Emily hands them the drinks faking a smile.  
Emily’s face drops as she realizes that her attempt to hide her bad mood hasn’t worked at all; she sighs thinking of an elegant way to avoid a direct answer, when a yell from the far corner of the bar catches their attention. “Hei, skinny ass! Are you hitting on my girl?” a huge man is standing in front of Reid and addressing him balefully.  
“I.. I wasn’t hitting on her. I was simply explaining to her that, according to scientific research, sexual attraction results from the combination of chemical reactions and cultural environment. Hence the different concepts of what is desirable or not according to the social and cultural background…” Reid argues waving his hands frantically, but this doesn’t seem to dissuade his opponent. The huge man takes a step forward rising his hand, when Morgan gets in the middle, hands raised with a conciliatory expression, “Hey, I know he might sound weird, and he is. But he’s also an FBI agent, and you really don’t want to mess you and your girlfriend’s night up this way.”  
The guy growls without moving; then he relaxes his shoulders and releases the grip on his fists. He beckons to his girl, who submissively follows him and leaves the bar.  
“Ok, guys” Prentiss takes the word after an awkward moment of silence, “I don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready to call it a night…”  
The group splits once out of the bar; Garcia, JJ and a mortified Reid take a taxi whereas Prentiss opts for a walk.  
“Hei kiddo,” Morgan recalls Reid’s attention, “don’t beat yourself up about that girl.”  
“I don’t… I just don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” the younger profiler protests.  
“Nothing’s wrong with you… It’s just not everyone understands how amazing you are,” Garcia soothes him rubbing his shoulder.  
Reid nods, still not completely convinced, and enters the taxi.  
While Morgan talks to Reid, reassuring him, Emily is mesmerized and confused by the stark contrast between the flirting guy, who hits on every available woman, and the caring, protective man who’s always there to support his friends. She can’t help wondering which of these two faces was prevailing before, when he came over to her at the bar.  
She waves at the three friends getting into the taxi and looks apologetically to Derek while he walks back to her; her hostility gradually winding down.  
Morgan and Prentiss watch the car driving away before they start moving, “You know that you don’t need to walk me back home, don’t you?” she then addresses Derek, who is silently walking at her side.  
“My mother taught me that making a girl wait and letting her walk back home alone are two things a man should never do on a date,” he responds with a smile.  
Prentiss stiffens suddenly.  
“What? Did I say something wrong?” he asks.  
“Ah..” she shakes her head and bites her lip fighting a smile, “ you just called this a date”.  
It’s unbelievable, she can face an armed unsub without a flinch, she can carry on a flirt with a random man at a bar, but right now her hands are sweating and she’s almost stuttering.  
“Don’t worry, I would never take any inappropriate initiative; especially when dealing with a woman that I greatly respect and who knows how to use a glock,” he smiles.  
She can’t help reciprocating, while she feels the tension and the grudge of the previous hours melting away.  
For a while they walk quietly, without needing to speak and being comfortable with that, until Emily breaks the silence, “Can I ask you a question?”  
“Sure.”  
“Why is being a good guy such a problem for you?” she just needs to hear it and then the subject will be closed, but she can’t let it slip away.  
“It’s not a problem…” he chuckles.  
“Yes, it is.” she objects rolling her eyes with a smile, “I didn’t mean to offend you or to mock you, and I’m sorry if it turned out that way. It was meant as a compliment,” she repeats, this time in a soft tone, without resentment.  
“I know. And I’m really flattered,” he manages, “Everybody thinks I’m a player, a bad guy, this is the reputation I have…” he explains somewhat uncomfortable, “then you arrive, you just bypass every gossip around me and see things… in a different way.” he offers.  
Emily grins, surprised at seeing him searching for words, it’s not a usual sight but it’s certainly sweet, “You know, there’s this thing called profiling that I sometimes do, that together with my personal experience, taught me not to believe blindly to what people say…”  
“Ok, fair enough. Miss Profiler..” he chuckles.  
“Although now I’m curious of what you think” she carries on.  
“About what?”  
“Yourself… Are you a player, Derek Morgan?”  
“Do you think I am?” he dodges the question, and Emily somehow realizes she’s growing tired of this hide and seek game.  
“I think that giving people what they expect is much more comfortable than making them change their mind,” she answers bitterly, and Morgan wonders if she’s still speaking about him “…But I also think you like being a player, sometimes.” she teases back, smiling again.  
He laughs at that, it’s so nice and natural to talk to her. No filters, no masks, no stereotypes. Sometimes he just has the feeling that they are fitting pieces in a puzzle.  
“Here we are,” Emily stops, “that’s my apartment.”  
Derek feels a pang of disappointment in leaving her company so soon, “Well, then I guess I did my job. Because this is what a good guy should do, right?”  
“Yeah, that’s a good guy’s job,” she leaves the sentence hanging as if she wanted to add something more, but she doesn’t.  
“It was a pleasure more than a job, really.” he adds.  
“It doesn’t change the reality that you are a good guy. Embrace it, Morgan!” she smiles back before entering her house.  
Derek looks at the door closed in front of him and then turns around, walking away “Yeah, that’s why I think that being the good guy sucks” he mutters to himself.  
Emily rests her back against the door. Cursing herself mentally for her lack of resolution, for the stupid ‘good guy’ thing, for the thought of inviting him in and for not having invited him in, for appreciating immensely the good guy she thinks he is, but also wishing he were a bad guy, just once. And for another million reasons she cannot even voice.  
***  
Emily stares at the big bed all at her disposal and a sigh escape her, thinking of all the cold nights she spent curled up in a corner. Derek’s face, as he bids goodbye to her, surfaces to her memory and she pushes it back, annoyed. She fights a lump to her throat feeling that this night the silent solitude of her room is a bit more overwhelming than usual. But dwelling on the reasons of her loneliness and her choices of life is not a good idea right now, enough frustration for the night, and she needs to sleep.  
Only when she glances at the clock, she realizes how long this day has been; then she quickly gets out of her clothes and takes a quick shower before collapsing on her mattress.  
The awareness of her limbs becoming heavier swallows every other thought and guides her into a deep slumber. When she opens her eyes, she’s not sure of the time; definitely it’s still night, because there’s no light filtering through the windows. She smiles closing her eyes, ready to fall asleep again, when the realization of something unusual alerts her senses. She can feel the weight and the warmth of a body lying next to her; the musky scent is somehow familiar but she can’t quite place it... A shiver travels down her spine as a hand settles on her side, unexpected yet comforting. Like pure velvet, not too heavy, not too delicate she feels an arm sliding around her waist, “Em, you have to relax and catch some sleep,” his husky voice smoothly fills the darkness of the room.  
Is it surprise this feeling suddenly burning in her chest?  
“Morgan?” she questions the void, uncertain yet expectant.  
In response his arm pulls her closer, while he delicately delivers sweet whispers in her ears. When he starts placing a trail of soft kisses on her neck, a shiver of anticipation runs through her body, and she wonders how could they have waited for so long.  
She turns around, eager to close the distance, searching his lips, his body, his warmth; but her arms meet cold darkness. His touch, his voice, his scent are gone.  
Before she can fully realize that her fantasy has vanished in the dark, her head whirls and immediately, hits a hard surface.  
She wakes up seconds, minutes, maybe even hours later. She’s lying on the floor, her neck sore and her alarm clock ringing irritatingly from the bedside table, on top of her.  
She looks down at herself; her body is wrapped in bed sheets like a mummy, her skin still hot with sweat and unsatisfied desire.  
She finally switches off the alarm and puts herself sit, with her back on the bed frame, “Sex dreams about Derek Morgan. Seriously?” she sarcastically mutters to herself while trying to get out of her cocoon.  
She walks toward the bathroom switching on the water and testing the temperature with one hand, while massaging her sore back with the other.  
“I want to be a cat in my next life…” she grumbles under the jet of hot water, “Eating, sleeping and hitting around on guys without feeling a perverted, immoral woman fantasizing about her friend and colleague.” She lavishes her hair with shampoo and lets the water run down her body, leaning with her hands against the tiled wall and hoping, praying, to erase the memory of that dream from her mind.

When Morgan walks toward the kitchen to refill his mug, he smiles amused at the sight of Emily pouring herself some coffee. That uncanny mix of clumsiness and self-confidence never cease to mesmerize him.  
To her great disappointment, Emily is still battling with the aftermath of her night and with the memories of that dream coming back in flashes and fogging her concentration.  
“God, that smells so good…” a husky voice reaches at her shoulders.  
Her eyes widen suddenly and as she startles, a sip of coffee takes the wrong direction.  
Morgan stares at her with an expression between bewildered and sorry, his mug suspended halfway to his mouth.  
“What did you just say?” Emily manages between gasps.  
“The coffee…I said it smells good” he answers uncertain, “Are you okay?”  
“Yes. I didn’t manage to get much sleep..” she offers mortified, walking back to her desk and wondering how to manage her nerves; as if some superior entity heard her request, Hotch walks in with a stern expression and summons a briefing for a case.  
***  
All profilers have their own weakness, a particular type of case that truly makes them want to spend five minutes alone with the unsub.  
Whenever Emily sees strong, independent women, being subdued, violated and humiliated, she can’t help thinking that she could be the one lying there, on the cold slab of a morgue.  
To realize how short the distance is between her and the victims, the only thought of that word applied to herself making her nauseous, leaves her helplessly furious.  
She feels like if she’s been staring at a whiteboard in the little claustrophobic room that the local police set for the team, for days. Day by day getting closer to those women; all of them were courageous and capable enough to overcome their fights, come to terms with their troubles, and achieve their dreams. All of them suffered a horrible and useless death.  
“It’s like a free-climber who dodges death during the most risky challenges and breaks his neck falling off a chair, at home” she mumbles, while JJ enters the room handing her some coffee.  
JJ stops suddenly, taken aback by the sheer pain in Emily’s voice, “What do you mean?” she asks tugging a lock behind her ear.  
“All those women somehow fought through a life of troubles and unhappiness, but they put themselves together and managed to build something…”  
“Sorry, I still don’t follow..” JJ replies apologetically.  
“Look at the victims. One just came back home after two turns in Iraq, the second grew up with an abusive father and an absent mother and became a civil rights lawyer, the third was a tae-kwon-do black belt and taught personal defense, the last got away from a violent boyfriend who almost…” a sudden realization hits her, leaving her sentence hanging.  
JJ is dumbfounded at Prentiss’ frowned expression; when Derek enters the room and looks at her questioningly she opens her arms in defeat.  
“What’s up, Prentiss?” Morgan gets to her side, arching his eyebrow.  
“These women recently started a new chapter of their lives…”  
Morgan nods.  
“So, you just moved to a new place. What do you do?”  
“We just tried that lead,” Reid objects, joining in the conversation, “Garcia dug up everything: estate agencies, coffee shops, gyms, health centres..”  
“I know. I was there too, Reid” Emily cuts him dryly and her reaction doesn’t escape anyone’s notice in the room.  
“Okay, then” Morgan suggests, trying to be supportive “Common friends, co-workers, mail service..”  
“Advertisement…” Emily interrupts him.  
“What do you mean?” Garcia’s voice chirps through the phone.  
“You have to move in a new place where you don’t know anybody. You want to have an idea of how it is to leave there, so you go on some blog and you ask questions around” Emily explains, searching for validation in her colleagues’ faces.  
“A cyber stalker…How could I dismiss it?” Garcia chirps excitedly, “I’m going to sieve through the websites that the all the victims visited and then I’ll see if there’s some user who chatted with them all.”  
“Look for a woman, or someone who says to be a woman.” Emily adds.  
“Are we changing the profile now?” JJ asks, confused.  
“No, but those women wouldn’t trust a man too friendly with them.” Morgan explains, “They would be suspicious and defensive. For the unsub it would be definitely easier to talk to them if he pretended to be a woman” While he talks, his eyes focused on Prentiss, who is deeply absorbed in her thoughts. He’s not worried about the fact that she gave up sleep over the last three days, or that she’s investing so much in this case; it’s pretty straightforward to see an analogy between her and the victims. What really bothers him is the fact that she’s not even making an effort to hide it. He can barely recognize the usual Emily, always so composed and keen on compartmentalizing, and he’s really worried about what this reckless attitude can ensue.

Two hours later, thanks to the information Garcia was able to dig out, they are running after the unsub, who after sneaking out down the fire escape, has proved to be a hell of a runner.  
It’s late, it’s dark and it’s raining. They are worn out well beyond the point of exhaustion and they want to catch this unsub badly.  
When the guy disappears behind a corner they split up, Gideon and Hotch searching in a back street, whereas Morgan and Prentiss entering what seems to be an abandoned warehouse.  
Once inside, they need few seconds to adapt to the pitch black. The feeble light from the outside sifts through several cracks of the metal roof, but at least it’s not raining on them anymore.  
Silently they take two different directions: Morgan walking toward the far end of the big open space, and Prentiss taking a staircase with few steps in order to survey the lower part of the warehouse.  
Emily tries to control her heartbeat taking deep breaths. She carefully scans the darkness with silent, neat movements. She’s so determined to catch this unsub, that she’s been willingly ignoring her body’s cues of exhaustion for days. She knows she’s been approaching this case in a completely wrong way; identifying with the victims, thinking as if she could be the next one, but paradoxically her involvement, instead of clouding her judgment, is making her more efficient. So much that when she gets slammed against the wall and falls on the ground losing her gun, she thinks this is a really ironic epilogue.  
As Morgan hears a banging noise from Emily’s direction, he runs toward her just to find his way blocked by a closed gate. He can see Emily and the unsub engaging a fight and rolling on the floor, until he gains the upper hand and wraps his hands around her neck. Derek tries frantically to break the lock, he shakes the gate, tries to unhinge it, but to no avail. Cursing and swearing, just to avoid focusing on the worst-case scenario, he runs back and follows her footsteps to the lower level.

Emily can feel the dizziness coming in and her limbs getting heavier, as he straddles her and tightens the grip around her throat.  
“Just let go. Stop fighting” he manages in a muffled cry, almost sweet, clenching his fingers and blocking her breath.  
It’s this sentence that makes something click in her. She tenses and gathers the strength to react; he’s caught by surprise when she hits him in the head, regaining the upper hand.  
Emily is quick in getting up and retrieving her gun, she’s panting and her lungs are on fire, “Now, how does it feel to be the one who has to fight for his life?” she growls, almost breathless.  
There’s no protocol, no rationality, no compartmentalization that can soothe her rage now.  
All she can think is that this monster doesn’t deserve to live.  
The unsub has turned quiet and silent; she can see him staring at her, wide eyed in the dimness of the room.  
Her finger lightly settles on the trigger and she’s sure nobody can stop her.  
She takes a deep breath, and increases the pressure.  
“Emily..” Derek’s husky voice, caring yet tense, halts her resolution, “Emily, don’t do it.”  
“Go away” she whispers.  
“We got him. You got him. He won’t harm anybody else.” Derek is not concerned about the unsub, right now; if he moves he will shoot him between the eyes himself, without thinking about it twice. This is all about Emily, who is so close to do something she will regret for the rest of her life.  
His words are velvet when he gets to her side “Emily, please.”  
“Go away” she reinforces, even though her determination is slowly crumbling.  
“No. I’m not leaving you. Ever” his voice is so resolute, almost desperate, that she falters realizing he’s never been so intense.  
She takes a deep breath and lowers the weapon, feeling suddenly ashamed for loosing control. Immediately Derek is on the unsub, cuffing him and slamming him against a wall.

Later on, under a beating rain, the police take the guy in custody and the rest of the team reaches them. Morgan heads back to Emily, who hasn’t spoken a word since they got out of the warehouse.  
“If you want to report me, I’ll understand…” she looks at him, still trying to mend the cracks on her shield. They’re just imperceptible breaks, that nobody would notice; nobody but him.  
He looks back, and his stance is somewhat cold and distant, “How’s your neck?” he asks, ignoring her comment.  
She stares surprised “I’m ...”  
“Spare me the part in which you say you’re fine, because you’re not” he cuts her dry, almost pissed.  
God, when did his eyes become so dark and deep? She wonders, feeling ridiculously pathetic and exposed.  
“I want to know how’s your neck” he reinforces.  
“A bit sore…” she admits uncomfortably.  
“Then you need to get checked,” he simply goes away to get a paramedic. No hints to what happened, no words of rage or comfort... She even wonders if it all happened just in her mind.  
In those few seconds she’s left alone, Emily lets her gaze wander around; a crowd of cops, detectives and paramedics is moving around frantically like busy ants. This turmoil makes her feel even more numb, hollow and broken.  
Could she even convey the way she feels? Could anybody ever understand her? She thought Derek would; for a brief instant she thought he could get her, but it was just a childish illusion.  
So, when he comes back with the paramedic, she just dodges them both with a hand, muttering that she’s fine, and heads to the SUV with fast strands. Her defensive wall up again, stronger than ever.  
Morgan stares at her, uncertain whether to be pissed or heartbroken. He needs to keep himself distanced, because if he stared at her too long, if he only touched her, he wouldn’t be able to help himself from wrapping her in his arms. All he wants to do, is to hold her and tell her that he’ll always be there for her and she’s not alone.  
He can see her pain, as she walks away and he can swear that if he slapped him in the face it wouldn’t hurt so much.

The flight back to Quantico is silent and seemingly endless. A shared feeling of tension and exhaustion holds each team members in a different way. Who is lost in his thoughts, who surrenders to slumber, who elaborates complicated theories based on uncanny ifs and maybes. Emily finds a corner for herself on and glues her face to the window, avoiding eye contact with everybody. She can’t understand how she could throw every rule and caution out of the window, how she could push herself so far, that if it wasn’t for Morgan… The comfort of his voice, while she was pointing the gun to the unsub, compared to his cold demeanor after the case was over, still confuses and hurts her. She’s grateful to him for not reporting what happened, but also frustrated for exposing such a frail side of her personality.

Hours later, when Emily checks at the peephole to see who just knocked at her door, she finds an exhausted Morgan waiting outside of her door.  
She feels pissed, and guilty and pathetic; one side of her wanting to open the door and shout at him how confused she is by his dwindling attitude, the other wanting to hide in a hole until she understands what does he want from her and especially how does she feel about him.  
Eventually she opens the door and lets him in, feigning an impassive expression.  
Morgan walks in, and stops in the middle of the dim room, staring at her, in silence.  
“My neck is fine, for real.” She states after a pause, challenging him.  
Derek nods, still without saying a word. He’s worn out and in his gaze there’s no reproach or rage, just hurt.  
She’s almost taken aback by his gaze, submissive, almost hurt, “Morgan, why did you come here?” she asks, this time more softly, her rage dissolving.  
“This is what a good guy would do, right?” he asks back, rough and helpless.  
“And you’re a good guy…” she takes a step closer.  
“No, I’m not.” He growls, and his voice is filled with self-loathing, “A good guy wouldn’t let his partner being beaten by a psychopath…”  
Emily suddenly understands and the realization is a slap in her face; his tension, his distance, his rage, are not directed to her, but to himself.  
“This is the job, Derek. It doesn’t have anything to do with being or not a good guy...” she offers.  
“A good guy wouldn’t show up this time at night…A good guy would know how to be there” he goes on, his fists clenched, his jaw tense.  
“Then maybe you’re right. Because a good guy wouldn’t be able to see me through like you do. A good guy couldn’t understand someone as damaged and broken as I am” she closes the distance, without daring to touch him though.  
Morgan frowns, still upset by this turmoil of emotion, yet bewildered at what she just said.  
He surrenders then, in a crooked, desperate smile.  
“Is it so funny that we’re both helplessly messed up?” she reclines her head.  
“It is. As a matter of fact,” he resolves, getting a little bit closer, “but a good…”  
Emily steps on the tip of her toes and silences him with a kiss. She doesn’t step back until she feels the tension melting away from him and his arms wrapping around her and pulling her closer.  
“You said I was a good guy” he mumbles against her lips, tenderly.  
“I said you made people around you feel good..” she reply “And I’m feeling very good right now” she closes the distance again, and smiles at the idea of not sharing her bed with the cold darkness this time.


End file.
